


The History Of Us

by apostrophee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, High School, Kid Fic, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Middle School, Sharing a Bed, Teen Angst, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostrophee/pseuds/apostrophee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There isn’t a grand tale about how P.J. Stilinski and D.J. Hale became friends; it was really kind of a sudden, unexpected thing.  They sat beside each other in class and one day D.J. asked to borrow a pencil.  And that was that, a friendship was born over a needed-to-be-sharpened, dull number 2 Pencil and a mutual distaste for long division.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The History Of Us

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to bitterbird @livejournal who has held my hand consistently for two months already as I flail, whine, cry and make throaty, sounds of frustration while writing this. Without her, this story would probably be full of grammatical travesties and that would be very, very bad. Also, thank you to archylou@livejournal who generously provided a third set of eyes, because again...I flail very easily. **EDIT! Thank you to antarshakes@livejournal who has ALSO provided her great beta services!**
> 
> EDIT: Ignore what I said, next two parts will be up in a few weeks.

 

The History Of Us

  
_“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for.”_  
                                                                                ― Bob Marley

 

He wasn’t a shy kid.  P.J. Stilinski was the kind of child who would walk up to a stranger and ask if they had candy.  He would knock on the neighbor’s doors just to see if they had kids his age he could play with.  He was a ball of energy that always seemed to find some sort of harmless trouble to get into.  He was smaller than most of the other kids, but at seven being tall wasn’t at the top of his list of priorities.  He was more concerned with important things like video games and comic books; harassing his mother to drive three hours in her beat up old Chevy to go to Comic-Con because ‘ _Oh My God Mom the Batmobile! The Batmobile will be there and I will die if I don’t see it; do you want me to die?’_. 

 

He didn’t have many close friends, but he hung out with enough people to pass the time with. He had boys to catch frogs with and a few girls who liked to get into mud fights and stand at the edges of rivers skipping stones, because in a small town, there wasn’t much to do besides that.  He was a happy child, a little too loud, easily excitable and impulsive with a near genius intellect.  He was too advanced for his age-group and when it came time to start third grade, his teacher suggested he skip it and go straight into fourth.

 

P.J. Stilinski met D.J. Hale in Mrs. Wiesenthal’s fourth grade math class, but if Derek Hale didn’t know you, and you called him D. J., he was quick to put you in your place because he hated that nickname and only family was allowed to call him that.  There isn’t a grand tale about how P.J. Stilinski and D.J. Hale became friends; it was really kind of a sudden, unexpected thing.  They sat beside each other in class and one day D.J. asked to borrow a pencil.  And that was that, a friendship was born over a needed-to-be-sharpened, dull number 2 Pencil and a mutual distaste for long division.

 

Despite their friendship the two boys were nothing alike.  Whereas P.J. was small, thin and pale, D.J. was bigger, and had stronger, darker features.  Derek wasn’t very tall, but he was taller than P.J. and very athletic.  He was on the baseball team and the basketball team and on the Lacrosse team and even did field hockey.  He was quintessentially the all American, athletic boy next door.  He came from a big family that had a lot of _old_ money as Derek would say.  P.J. was an only child from a modest family of modest means and he was more of a brain than the brawny type.  He wasn’t a very coordinated kid, but he joined Lacrosse because D.J. made him so that on Wednesdays, after practice was over, they could go back to D.J.’s house and play video games until P.J’s dad would pick him up.

 

The thing that a lot of people didn’t know about Derek Hale was that he was funny.  He would just make the most randomly corny jokes with his ever-present serious face and that’s what made them hilarious.  And D.J. was nice too, had a heart bigger than his family’s estate.  A lot of the other kids in their grade used to make fun of P.J. because he was so much smaller.  He had a weird first name that was hard to pronounce, but it was his grandfather’s name and his grandfather was awesome and Patrycjusz was proud of his name.  P.J.  was the nickname his mother had given him just to make it easier when it came to birthday invitations and accepting awards at school assemblies.  But D.J. never made fun of P.J.  He would get mad and yell at the kids who did, even if those kids were his friends it didn’t matter because no one was allowed to make P.J. feel bad about anything.

 

D.J. Hale had a lot of friends, more than any nine year old should be allowed to have, which P.J. found hilarious because Derek was the most anti-social person P.J had ever met.  He didn’t speak a lot, he mostly just nodded and agreed or disagreed to things.  He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, yet half of the school would look to him for confirmation on important things like the state of school lunches and what girl in Mr. Harris’ first period science class was the prettiest.  It was always Lydia Martin with her red hair and big, white teeth. 

 

You would have thought that given D.J.’s popularity, P.J. would have, by association, automatically be included in this group.  That was not the case and P.J. wasn’t bothered by this.  He really didn’t care what people thought of him.  He was who he was and his mother had taught him that it was okay to be a little weird and offbeat.  She said that the greatest minds of the world always marched to their own beat so P.J. danced to his.

 

The summer before sixth grade, things started to change between P.J. and D.J.  For one, D.J. had told everyone in his family to stop calling him D.J. because that was a little kid’s nickname and Derek was eleven.  He was damn near a teenager!  You had to address him by Derek and only as such.  He also told P.J. that he too needed a new name because even though he was only ten, he was going to be in the sixth grade and needed a new, cooler name too because ‘ _P.J. we are in junior high school now and that’s almost high school except it’s really not’_. And that’s how on a hot, August afternoon Patrycjusz Jacob Stilinski became Stiles Stilinski.

 

Middle school was absolutely terrifying for Stiles because it was a big place full of people he didn’t know.  He didn’t have any classes with Derek because most of Stiles’ classes were advanced placement.  There was even some talk about moving him up another grade, but he begged his parents not to. It was hard enough being the only sixth grader who was ten; he didn’t want to be some freak of nature being moved up to seventh so he stayed put.

 

Whereas Stiles excelled academically, Derek was finding his own successes on the football field.  He had already made the Pee Wee league and by mid-October had graduated to the level one division, which was generally only made up of seventh and eighth graders.  With this accomplishment came more friends and the more friends he got, the more popular Derek became and the more popular he became, the less time he had available to spend with Stiles.

 

Wednesdays had always been ‘their’ days.  That was the day Stiles and Derek would get together and play videogames at Derek’s house.  It had been sort of a routine and the only time they ever missed a day was if one of them were sick or away on a family vacation.  But today was the first time that Derek cancelled to hang out with someone else.   Her name was Erica and she had invited Derek to her house to study.  When he told Stiles this, rushing to his locker before lunch all pink-flushed cheeks and out of breath, Derek had been so excited that Stiles pushed down that nervous ache in his gut and congratulated him.  Erica was pretty and popular and completely unaware that she was encroaching on their friendship.

 

Stiles had science club though. There, he had friends, friends who were like him, who got excited reading about neurons and synapses and all of the many different organisms that made up the universe.  There was Lydia Martin who was beautiful and smart and funny and sometimes she was a little mean to Stiles, but Stiles would give it right back to her, ‘ _My head is big? Well at least I don’t have duck lips’._ And they would even sometimes meet on Saturday mornings down at the marsh to collect swamp water to study under a microscope.  

 

Lydia had a little cousin who would sometimes tagalong during their weekend quests and that’s how Stiles met Scott, who was just as small and his age, but only in the fourth grade because he got held back a year.  Scott was so cool because he knew who Peter Park was and had a collection of comic books that Stiles would –no joke, sell his soul for.

 

As the months passed by with Thanksgiving break swiftly approaching, Stiles was surprised to find a note from Derek in his locker.  In Derek’s messy scrawl, it was basically an apology letter for spending the last few weeks blowing him off to hang with Erica.  He wanted Stiles to sleep over Friday night to play videogames and do the stupid things they used to spend their weekends doing before Derek had gotten so involved with football, and Stiles had become, as Derek called him, a _super-science freak._

 

That’s how on the last Friday in November, the day after Thanksgiving Stiles found himself in Derek’s kitchen feeling like a stranger while he watched Derek make them sandwiches.

 

“This is weird,” he said after a few moments.  Derek arched one dark brow as he spread mayo across the bread.

 

“What’s weird?”

 

“This,” Stiles said motioning between them. “You and me. It feels like, I don’t know, all awkward and shit.”

 

Finishing the first sandwich Derek pushed the plate across the kitchen island to Stiles.  He watched as Stiles took a bite. “I know what you mean,” he said after a moment.

 

“But why though? I mean, you’re my best friend.  It shouldn’t be this weird.”

 

“Best friend?” Derek said, bright green eyes locking with Stiles’.  Stiles coughed nervously.

 

“Yeah…right? I mean you still are, right?”

 

After a moment Derek smiled and bit into his own sandwich.  Turkey on Rye never tasted so good. “Yeah, but I don’t think we’ve ever said it.”

 

“Hum…” Stiles mumbled between bites. “I guess so.  This is a cause for celebration.  We should toast with coke.”

 

“Toast with coke? Like bread and soda?” Derek asked.

 

“No dork, we should toast glasses of coke.  Today is a momentous occasion!” Stiles smiled.

 

“What’s ‘momentous’ mean?” Derek asked truly confused. “I’m in normal classes Stiles, not your college classes.”

 

Stiles smirked and rolled his eyes. “It means that right now, you and I are going to celebrate the fact that we have publicly declared our best friendship-ness.”

 

“You’re kind of ridiculous,” Derek laughed.

 

It was just like old times again. 

 

***

They stayed up until eleven watching old scary movies in Derek’s living room, making a blanket fortress out of couch cushions that Derek’s older sister Laura knocked down because she was in high school and it was her job to make her little brother’s life just a smidge more difficult. 

 

“She’s such a bitch,” he complained as Stiles pulled out his sleeping bag tossing it on Derek’s bedroom floor.

 

“We could get revenge.” Stiles suggested.

 

Derek’s ears perked up. “What you got in mind?”

 

“Grease in her shampoo?  Dye in her shampoo? Oh, no wait! Spiders in her shampoo!”

 

“Does every prank you know involve something with shampoo?” Derek laughed quietly.

 

“Sadly, Derek it does.”

 

“Laura is crazy about her hair.  No joke, she’d legit try to kill me if I fucked with it in anyway.”

 

Stiles laughed as he burrowed into the downy softness of his sleeping bag. He watched as Derek got out of his bed to close his bedroom door.  He stripped off his t-shirt and Stiles stared for a moment, his brain-to-mouth filter broken as he spoke.

 

“Whoa, you’re ripped dude!”

 

Derek’s ears burned, a blush spreading across his cheeks and chest as he stepped over Stiles trying to get to the light switch to turn it off.

 

“Shut up.”

 

 

 

He was embarrassed and Stiles found this hilarious because only Derek Hale would get embarrassed by someone giving him a compliment.

 

“Seriously, if I join the football team will I get muscles like that too? What the fuck does Coach Finstock make you do a million sit-ups?”

 

“Shut up,” Derek growled as he flipped the light off. He purposely kicked Stiles’ leg as he stepped over him.

 

“Ouch you fucker, that hurt!” He grunted pulling at Derek’s leg until he fell, halfway stuck between Stiles’ legs and his bed.   And then the race was on, two giggly adolescent boys roughhousing in the dark.  Stiles’ fist connected with soft flesh.  For a moment he paused to apologize, but then Derek was on him, laughing like it didn’t matter that he might have a black eye in the morning. 

 

“Tell me Stiles,” Derek laughed, pinning Stiles between his legs, holding his arms above his head. “Are you still ticklish?”

 

“I’m warning you, you fucker! Quit it! You’ll be sorry!” He smirked. 

 

Through the darkness of the room slithers of light from the backyard patio lanterns bathed the room with an almost unearthly golden dust, twisting in the shadows through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating everything.  Stiles could clearly see the calculating grin on Derek’s face, but before he could strike Stiles twisted his legs from underneath Derek, knocked him back against the floor with a crash and was straddling him, pinning him down.

 

“What the fuck was that?” Derek gasped, struggling to catch his breath as he laughed. “When did you become a ninja?”

 

“Wax on, wax off.” Stiles chuckled. “Now, Derek Hale tell me, are _you_ still ticklish?” Not waiting for an answer Stiles began to tickle underneath Derek’s armpit only to pull away with a shocked gasp. “Holy fuck you have hair _there_?”

 

Derek laughed as he poked Stiles in his side. He gave him a curious smile. “And other places,” he said wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

 

Something in the pit of Stiles’ gut began to ache as he looked down at Derek.  It was in this moment that Derek stopped smiling.  The conscious awareness that something was about to happen.  Stiles realized he was still straddling Derek and the way he was in his lap, to an outsider looking in, could seem really weird.  He made a move to get off when Derek stopped him, placing a hand on his waist, fingers sliding up Stiles’ t-shirt.

 

“I see you with Lydia sometimes,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

 

Stiles voice was low when he replied. “She’s my friend. We hang.”

 

“You’re always with her and that other kid.”

 

“Scott?  He’s her cousin, he’s cool.”

 

“I don’t like them.” Derek’s fingers press into Stiles’ side causing Stiles to squirm, but he doesn’t get off of Derek’s lap.  He just looks down at him, a small smile breaking out on his face.

 

“You don’t even know them.”

 

“Not true,” Derek argues brow furrowing. “I’ve known Lydia since kindergarten.  She’s a know-it-all.”

 

“No she’s not!” Stiles yells and then in quieter voice continues.  “She’s really awesome and nice and funny and a little bit of a bitch, but she doesn’t mean it.”

 

“Whatever.” Derek says and he looks away, but he keeps his hand pressed against Stiles’ side, his fingers toying with the edge of Stiles’ t-shirt.  “It’s hot as fuck in here, why do you have this on anyway?”

 

The mood in the room is still shifting, a continuous slide away from normal, familiar places.  This territory is unknown.  Something is off with Derek tonight, Stiles can feel it.  He can feel that push between them, like right there, in that moment, what he does next is going to define something, cross a line.

 

“Well why the hell do your parents have the heat on so high?”

 

“Take it off,” Derek says and the words come out so rushed that Stiles’ isn’t sure if he’s heard him correctly. “I said you can take it off,” Derek repeats, slower.

 

Stiles jumps off of Derek’s lap and doesn’t say a word as he stands by Derek’s window, peeking through the blinds staring out into the backyard.  There’s a pool there and miles and miles of woods that lead to nothing.  Stiles imagines that he’s out there running through the trees, his feet crushing the earth, toes prickled by pine needles, the rush of cold November air crisp in his lungs.  He imagines the freedom he’d feel out there, alone, just him and the trees, but Derek is shuffling toward him, standing right behind him, his voice in his ear and Stiles can’t think.

 

“It’s hot…you can take it off if you want to.” He says and by god Stiles is only ten, but Derek is right there and all Stiles wants to do is turn around and do something stupid like hug Derek or touch his stomach because there are lines that are almost muscles there and Stiles just wants to know what they feel like.

 

But he doesn’t do any of that because he is ten and he doesn’t understand much.  Derek is eleven and he doesn’t understand much more either, so instead Stiles yawns and takes his t-shirt off before rushing back to his sleeping bag.  He’s a lot skinnier than Derek and he doesn’t want him to see. 

 

Derek pauses for a moment before pulling the blanket and pillows off of his bed and laying beside Stiles.  They are both quiet for a moment before Derek speaks.

 

“You’re my best friend too,” he says.

 

And soon sleeps takes them both.

 

***

At the start of seventh grade Erica and Derek officially start dating.  It’s not the fact that they are dating that bothers Stiles it’s the fact that Derek didn’t tell him. Lydia had to because she and Erica are on the cheerleading squad together and Erica is telling everyone.

 

Maybe it’s immature and for someone with Stiles’ I.Q. he could have thought of a better way to address his anger, but he’s twelve and he’s angry and a child so he rides his bike to Derek’s house that day banging on his front door with so much force it sounds like thunder striking.  Of course he’s not home because it’s Tuesday and he forgot that Derek has football practice for another two hours.  Thankfully Laura is home and she lets him in and makes him a cup of hot cocoa.

 

Laura is pretty.  She’s four years older than Stiles, has long dark hair and bright green eyes which seems to be a trait of the Hale family.  If Stiles was a different kind of boy, he would probably be in love with her.  If he were a different kind of boy, he would probably be in love with Lydia Martin too, but he knows that there is something different about him.  He’s getting older and the things his friends are saying, the things most of the other boys are saying that they want to do with girls aren’t things that he wants to do with them.

 

He told his mother about his feelings, how he doesn’t want to kiss girls the way all the boys in his class seem to want to and how he knows he can’t tell any of his friends about this.  How when he and Lydia are watching Power Rangers and she talks about how hot the red ranger is that sometimes he wants to agree with her because Joey is hot with his dark hair and light eyes and strong arms.  His mother said that he is who he is supposed to be, but he’s still much too young to worry and that those kind of things sort themselves out so he tries not to obsess, but sometimes it’s all Stiles can think about.

 

“What did Derek do Little Dude?” Laura sighs as she pulls her long, dark hair into a messy bun. She’s wearing an oversized plaid shirt and baggy sweatpants because it’s cold outside and today was just one of those days for baggy, comfy clothes and lazing about.

 

“Nothing,” Stiles grunts taking a gulp of his hot cocoa.  It burns his mouth and he swears as Laura laughs. “Oh fuck!”

 

“Here,” she says handing him an ice-cube. “He’s clearly done something to piss you off since you rode your bike all the way down here.  P.J it’s like ten degrees out.”

 

“It’s Stiles now, Laura,” he grumbles.  After a moment of seething in his own anger he speaks again. “He’s got a girlfriend.  He didn’t even tell me about it.”

 

“Oh Erica.  Yes, well it is pretty shitty not to tell your best friend you’ve got a girlfriend.  I’m sure my dickwad of a brother has his reasons. You know he’s not much for talking about anything that doesn’t involve a pigskin. Cut him a little slack, please, for little old me?” She bats her lashes and Stiles smiles.  Yeah, if he was a different kind of boy he’d be head over heels for her.

 

Maybe he is overacting.  It’s not a big deal.  So Derek didn’t tell him about dating Erica.  According to Lydia they’d only been official boyfriend/girlfriend since the weekend.

***

Laura and Stiles are swinging on the front porch eating apple slices when Derek comes home, leaving his bike in the front yard.  He’s surprised to see Stiles and grunts for Laura to go away.  With a laugh she goes back into the house and Derek looks nervous, like he knows he’s done something bad because he’s doing that thing where he’s biting at his lower lip and not looking Stiles in the eye.   All of a sudden the anger that Stiles thought went away comes rushing back.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you guys were dating?” He spits and cringes at how childish he feels like he sounds.

 

“I don’t know.  Didn’t think you’d care.” Derek says.  He’s still in his football uniform.  It’s maroon with white lettering and covered in mud.  He smells like grass and sweat when he sits next to Stiles looking off into space. The Hale house is secluded, buried deep in the woods, two miles away from the main road.  Derek is looking out into the trees. The sky has turned a soft shade of blue; the orange blaze of the sun is setting in the distance, its faint glow lighting up only along the horizon, the edges burnt against the landscape.  Night is trying to ease its way in and Stiles knows he has to be heading home soon.  His parents will kill him if he’s not home by supper.

 

“ _Wouldn’t care_?” Stiles yells. “You’re my best friend, yeah I fucking care! I care a lot!”

 

“Yeah, well you didn’t tell me about you and Lydia! Erica told me Friday!” Derek grunts squaring his shoulders eyes burrowing down on Stiles with a hot fury.

 

Stiles is at a loss for words. “What the fuck are you talking about? She’s just my friend.”

 

“Not what she told Erica.” Derek mumbles. 

 

“I don’t care what she told Erica.  Lydia is just my friend because **if** she was **my** girlfriend, _I_ –unlike _you_ , would have told **my** best friend!”

 

Stiles makes a move to leave, but Derek’s hand clasping angrily around his wrist stops him. He stays in place, swinging on the swing, the tips of his sneakers scuffing against the porch.  Derek’s feet are flat on the porch and Stiles takes him in.  Takes in how big Derek is getting. How broad his shoulders look under his uniform, how his face is thinner, jaw getting sharper.  His hair is longer at the top.  He’s thirteen, but he looks older. 

 

Stiles’ just turned twelve and yet he feels like a little kid. He certainly looks like one with his rosy, chubby cheeks and scrawny body and shaggy mop of brown hair.  He feels like he has no place here anymore, no place being Derek’s best friend for Derek is this completely different person now and it’s never been more apparent.  He has this girlfriend and his sports and his popularity and Stiles, well he has his books and science club and his fellow science geek comrades.  But Derek used to be a part of his life too, used to fit somewhere between those spaces, but not anymore.  He’s slipping away and Stiles feels like he’s trying to hold onto something that he probably should have let go of a year ago.

 

“Let me go,” Stiles says and Derek holds onto his wrist, won’t let him go, and won’t look him in the eye either.

 

The next thing Stiles knows Derek has his hands on his face and his lips against Stiles’.  It’s nothing more than a quick press of dry lips against dry lips, but then it’s over and Derek’s face is beet red and he’s running into his house, slamming the door behind him.  Stiles wants to follow him, wants to ask him _what the fuck was that_ , but he doesn’t.  He’s afraid and it’s getting dark and his head hurts because Derek touching him, touching his face, his mouth against his, has made Stiles feel like he’s falling apart.

 

***

At school the next day Derek ignores him.  Sometimes they don’t have time to talk during the school day because they don’t share any classes, but Derek always gives him a wave, always says hello or always gives him a friendly punch to the shoulder just to let him know that he’s thinking about Stiles.  But today, there is nothing except the avoidance of eye contact.  Stiles waves to him, but D.J. –Derek, just ignores him. He walks right past Stiles, right past him as if Stiles is nothing and right there, in that moment, Stiles knows that it’s all over. He has lost his best friend.

***

The first few weeks were the hardest. Watching someone you spent three years calling your best friend have a new best friend is a little bit like taking a knife to the heart. That’s the only way Stiles can describe it, like he’s fallen on his own sword.  Every time he sees Derek laugh at whatever stupid, stupid thing Jackson says it’s like another stab in his chest. Jackson is a moron.  He plays football with Derek and is rich like Derek, but Jackson is an asshole and Derek shouldn’t be having fun with him.

 

And Stiles isn’t stupid.  He gets why Derek won’t talk to him.  Derek is embarrassed because of that kiss, but Stiles wants to tell him that it’s okay.  He wants to tell him that it didn’t mean anything, not if he didn’t want it to, that it was just a kiss and fuck,they’re just dumb seventh graders who don’t know shit, but Stiles really misses him and fuck, it’s been a month and Christmas is coming up and their day-after-Christmas sleepover at Stiles’ house is, like, a _tradition_. 

 

“You should stop moping,” Lydia tells him at lunch the day before vacation starts.

 

“I’m not moping,” he says, which is a lie.  He was okay until he saw Derek walk into the cafeteria with Jackson.  This isn’t even their stupid lunch period.

 

“Are you gonna ever tell me why you two stopped being friends?”

  
Stiles digs into his mashed potatoes and tries to ignore the throbbing ache in his belly when he watches Derek laugh and sling his arm around Jackson’s neck leading him out of the cafeteria.   _They’re best friends now_ , he thinks.

 

“Eat your freaking yogurt Lydia.”

***

Christmas, as always, was kind of amazing. Being an only child has its perks, this is a fact Stiles has long been aware of.  Sometimes it feels like his parents try to overcompensate for his lack of siblings with gifts and money and while the salary of a small town Sheriff and a baker isn’t much, when you have one child you can make it stretch.

 

“What time is Derek coming over tomorrow?” His mother asks as she wipes down the kitchen table.

  
Stiles’ stomach drops.  He’s done a good job of avoiding talking about Derek at home.  He doesn’t want his mother to worry about it or worse ask what happened because he’d rather not lie to her.  He knows he can tell a good lie, but he doesn’t like doing it, especially not to his mother.  She usually always can tell when he’s lying anyway.  It’s like she has a built-in bullshit detector.

 

“I don’t think he’s coming and before you ask a million questions I really don’t want to talk about.”

 

“Honey-”

 

“-please Mom. Okay? I really don’t want to talk about,” Stiles says and he takes the towel from her hands. “I’ll clean up.”

 

Sarah Stilinski smiles at her son, ruffles her hand through his hair. “Oh sweet child of mine, you need yourself a haircut. You look like you should be in The Beatles.”

 

“The what?” He asks and laughs at the look of mock horror that slides across his mother’s face.

 

“I have failed as not only a parent, but as a human being and as an Anglophile.  Put that blasted rag down this instant and get your father.  Meet me in the basement!”  She commanded.

 

That night the Stilinski family, each snuggled in an ugly Christmas sweater, drinking hot apple cider and Stiles Stilinski received his first lesson in Beatleology.

 

“Child, sweet beautiful fruit of my loins,” his mother began, putting a record on. “This is what music is. What it was!  This is when music was real!”

 

The first song began to play.  It was clearly outdated with its old-school rock sound, but the beat was kind of catchy.  His father got up, dancing across the room to his mother.  He started to sing along to the music.

 

“ _It’s been a hard day’s night and I’ve been working like a dog..._ ” Sheriff Stilinski sings, pulling his wife into his arms doing The Twist.  Stiles laughs because his parents are absolute dorks and this is where he gets it from.

 

“Oh my god, you guys are so old!” He laughs, but his mother pulls him up and urges him to dance too.  Stiles rolls his eyes and begins to tap his foot and snap his fingers as his father’s horrible singing gets louder, almost drowning out the music.

 

“ _When I’m home, everything seems to be right.  When I’m home, feeling you holding me tight, holding me tight, yeah._ ” He croons and Stiles laughs harder, his cheeks aching, his face red as he begins to do his best James Brown slide across the basement floor in his holey socks.  He spins like he’s Michael Jackson and snaps his fingers like he’s Prince.

 

“Yes, sweet child! Let the music move you!” His mother laughs as his father dips her.

 

Stiles does his best jig as he laughs, watching his parents dance as if tonight is the end of the world.

 

***

 

It’s a Tuesday and there is no school so naturally Stiles has decided he is going to sleep until way past noon or until one of his parents make him get out of the bed to be a productive member of society.  He’s expecting his mother to be the one to wake him, but what he’s not expecting is to open his eyes to find Derek smirking, pillow in hand.

 

“What the fuck –humph!” Stiles starts, but is cut off midsentence by Derek smacking him in the face with the pillow.

 

“What are you doing still sleeping? Dude, it’s almost noon!” He laughs jumping on the foot of Stiles’ bed.  Stiles is stunned to silence.  It takes him a moment to process his thoughts.  He’s angry and annoyed, but he’s going to go with confusion.

 

“No, the real question here is why _you_ are here? Remember the whole you not talking to me thing? What’s up with you dude?”

 

Derek looks down at his hands.  He’s doing that thing he does when he knows he’s wrong, chewing on his bottom lip and Stiles would very much like to slap a little bit of sense into him.

 

“Don’t know. Tradition,” he says.

 

If Stiles were a lesser boy, he wouldn’t accept that as an explanation. If he were a lesser boy he’d curse Derek to the third circle of hell, he’d really rip him a new one because you don’t spend almost two months ignoring your best friend.  You just don’t do that kind of shit because it’s not right, but Stiles has a heart just as big as he knows Derek’s is, so he will forgive him, just this once.

 

He picks up the pillow from behind his head and smacks Derek in the face.  He’s out of the bed and running down the hall screaming for his mother to help him as Derek charges after him.

***

They set up camp in the living room because there’s carpet on the floor down there and more space to roughhouse.  They pitch a tent and get their flashlights ready.  The whole house is quiet, Stiles’ parents shut off in their bedroom upstairs.  It’s warm in the tent, both boys wearing long johns, sharing a soft, downy blanket.

“You wanna go first?” Derek asks.

“All right,” Stiles begrudgingly agrees. “It was a dark and stormy night-”

 

“Oh come on-” Derek interrupts. “You can do better than that!  How is that even _remotely_ scary Stiles?”

 

“ _Remotely_? Oh someone’s using vocabulary words! And that part isn’t scary and if you’d shut the fuck up, then maybe I **could** scare you.  Now, where was I? Oh, it was a dark and stormy night.  A girl was babysitting in a strange house in a strange place.  The rain was pounding against the window and BOOM lightening crashes and the house goes completely dark.  All the power is out.  The news on the radio says there’s an escaped convict-”

 

“-wait.  If there is no power on, then how is the radio playing?” Derek laughs.

 

Stiles smirks and without missing a beat says, “It’s battery powered.”

 

“Not fair, you just made that up!” Derek sits up, pushing Stiles in the shoulder.  Laughing, Stiles pulls the covers back and pushes him.

 

“Of course I did you moron, I’m making it up as I go.” He hits Derek upside the head with his pillow and then scrambles to get out of the tent because he knows Derek is going to get him for that one.

 

He makes it halfway out of the tent before Derek is pulling him back in, yanking on his legs.  As he tries to get out from Derek’s grip, somewhere in the shuffle, his pajama bottoms are being pulled down.  He can feel air cool against his exposed backside.   Derek seizes the opportunity and smacks him hard on his right cheek.  The sound of skin hitting skin echoes in the living room.  Stiles yelps, frantically rubbing at his backside.

 

“Ouch you fucker! That really hurt!”

 

“Aww, so sorry.  Let me make the baby feel all better.” Derek laughs and begins to rub his hand across Stiles’ cheek.  His touch is soft and Stiles’ freezes because there is something too intimate about the way Derek is touching him.  He lays down on his stomach, head cradled against his folded arms and he remains still as Derek continues to knead his flesh.  He is finding it hard to breathe, but he’s doing it with short little wheezes.  He can feel Derek moving, shifting and his hand is gone, but only for a moment.  The pressure of Derek’s body hovering over his makes breathing that much more difficult.  He’s choking off little gasps of air as Derek presses his body firmly against his, chest to back, back to chest.

 

“I just wanna…” Derek whispers and then he slides his hand down Stiles’ pajama bottoms, just below his hip, inches away from Stiles’ dick.   “Can I?” He says and it sounds like he’s crying because his voice is so strained.  It’s like he’s possessed because he doesn’t sound like himself.

 

Stiles isn’t sure what he’s agreeing to, but he’s whispering _yes, yes, whatever you want_ and then there’s Derek moving against him, a slow grind, his hand moving lower and wrapping around Stiles dick, his mouth hot and panting against Stiles’ neck, lips pressing into the skin, jerky, uncoordinated movement of teenage hips and clumsy, too rough hands.

 

And Stiles loses himself in it all.

 

***

In the morning Derek doesn’t mention what happened the night before.  If he’s not going to talk about it, then Stiles isn’t either.  He too will blissfully ignore the fact that he thinks he lost his virginity to his best friend because the things they did he’s pretty sure was as close to sex as they could have gotten without actually having sex, which is just something that blows Stiles’ mind. He’s not even thirteen and not ready for a lot of shit, but he’s curious about it all.  Derek has opened his eyes to a new world and it fucking sucks that he’s pretending nothing happened because god damn it Stiles wants to do it again. 

 

He wants Derek to throw him against his bed and do those things with his hands and maybe use his mouth more this time and maybe make him feel like he’s dying inside, but a slow and sweet kind of death, the ultimate release.

 

But Derek is helping his mother peel potatoes and now is not an opportune time to entertain these sort of thoughts.

***

They head to bed early that night, this time in Stiles’ bedroom because the downstairs heater is acting funny and it’s too cold to be down there, even with four blankets.  Stiles is in his bed, sleep almost pulling him under when he feels a dip in the bed.  He keeps his eyes closed as he feels the heat of Derek’s body lingering near. 

 

He can feel the warm gusts of Derek’s breath blowing across his face and Stiles parts his lips, just a little and Derek is kissing him.  Stiles arches underneath him, pulls Derek flushed against him, t-shirt clad chest against t-shirt clad chest.  Their kissing is sloppy and inexperienced, but it lights something up inside both boys.  It makes them feel like the world has stopped because Derek has his hands in Stiles’ boxers again and Stiles is palming Derek’s backside, his fingers pushing him to move faster and faster and Stiles feels like if he were to die right now, right in that moment with Derek kissing him, touching him, making him feel like he is everything then he would be okay with that.

 

***

Derek spends two more nights at Stiles house.  Every night they do the same thing.  They kiss and touch and come alive, but in the morning it’s like the night before never happened and that’s okay, Stiles is okay with the whole not talking about it in daylight and using their hands as words in the darkness of night to say all that they need to say.  He’s completely okay with that, except he’s not really at all okay with that.  He’s a scientist and he needs an explanation for the whys and whats of everything.

 

Then the inevitable happens.  Derek’s mom calls him to come home because it’s been four days and she’d like for her only son to at least spend some of the holidays with his family.  So Derek leaves and there’s no fanfare, no dramatics.  No Stiles throwing himself at Derek declaring his undying love. It’s just Derek waving goodbye with a small smirk and a ‘ _see ya_ ’ before he’s gone.

 

***

Stiles doesn’t hear from Derek that weekend, but that’s okay.  He has his best friend back or so he thought.  When school starts back up that Monday he sees Derek in the hallway.  He waves at him, but Derek throws his arm across Jackson’s shoulders and whispers in his ear.  Jackson’s eyes flash to him, the look in them predatory.  Stiles can feel his stomach twist as he watches Jackson push through the crowd before he’s in Stiles’ face.

 

“Hey faggot,” he laughs and he pushes Stiles into a locker.  Stiles can feel his face burn with embarrassment.  There are people around and Jackson has just called him _that_ word.  His secret, what he really is.  Immediately his eyes fall to Derek’s and Stiles blood runs cold because there is nothing on Derek’s face. No emotions, just a blank slate void of emotions as Jackson holds him against the locker, squeezing his arm so hard that Stiles drops his books.

 

“What are you looking at me for? Huh,” Jackson grunts, squeezing hard enough to make Stiles cry out.  All the kids gather around them and all Stiles wants to do is crawl into a hole and hide.  He can stand up for himself, normally he would be, but he’s afraid of what Jackson knows, he’s afraid to provoke him. Why isn’t D.J. stopping this?

 

“Jackson!” Lydia yells, pushing her way through the crowd of gawkers. “Leave him alone!”

 

“Fuck off Lydia, I’m just goofing around!” Jackson whines, but Lydia is pulling him away from Stiles.  She quietly scolds him before Jackson’s stomping away, helping Stiles pick up his books.  The crowd begins the thin, the groans of disappointment at the broken promise of a fight fading away as the bell for next period rings.

 

Stiles face is burning.  He can feel the threat of tears forming, but he won’t cry.  He won’t.  Lydia makes a soft, comforting sound and pulls Stiles into a hug.  She smells like cherry blossoms and orange flavored lip gloss. She is soft and beautiful and a girl and why can’t Stiles like her in that way that he’s supposed to? Why can’t he?  Why is Derek being a dick again?

 

He won’t cry though, he won’t.  He holds his head up high and gives Lydia a soft smile.

 

“Thanks.  You’re a real pit-bull.”

 

Lydia smirks. “If Jackson tries to screw with you again, remind him about his little bed wetting problem and I guarantee you he’ll leave you be.”

 

***

Stiles and Derek don’t speak at all again.  The months past and soon seventh grade ends and summer is there.  Stiles spends his time with his science club friends, but he mostly hangs with Lydia and her cousin Scott.  Sometimes Lydia has to go off and _be with the girls because you boys stink and won’t let me put makeup on you_ so a lot of the time it’s just Scott and Stiles shooting the shit. 

 

They race their bikes across town, play stupid pranks around the neighborhood like doorbell ditch and toilet papering the woods because Stiles’ father would kill him if he was caught actually vandalizing someone’s property.  They play videogames and go to the arcade and Scott develops this obsession with archery because he’s in love with the girl next door to Stiles, a pretty little brunette named Allison from Utah who is apparently really good with shooting a bow and arrow, but she’s Mormon and not allowed to talk to boys without her parents being present.  That didn’t stop them from sneaking shy smiles whenever the opportunity presented itself.

 

And all too soon summer is over.  The first day of eighth grade brings Stiles face to face with Derek Hale.  He managed to go the full summer break without seeing him, mostly because Derek was away at football camp or so Laura told him because she likes to check up on his every now and then. 

 

Summer was kind to Derek.  He got a little taller, his shoulders a little broader.  His skin was tanned a warm shade of olive which brought out the green in his eyes.  Stiles grew too that summer, a full four inches and thank god because he was almost as tall as the other kids now, but his body wasn’t like Derek’s.  He could see the strength in Derek’s arms under his t-shirt, the thick cords of muscle rippling under his skin, the veins lining his arms and fuck, something flipped inside of Stiles’ stomach.  It was longing, but he pulled his eyes away, held his head up high and walked right past Derek, not even acknowledging him.

 

This year, they shared a class: Mechanical Drawing.  Stiles was never a good artist, couldn’t even draw a picture of a cat to save his life, but drawing was the only elective available because he was late with turning in his request sheet. 

Because the world can be cruel and unforgiving, assigned seating placed them right next to each other.  Being so close to Derek, smelling the fresh scent of his soap and shampoo annoyed Stiles.   They didn’t talk at all and Stiles did his best not to even look at Derek.

 

Sometimes though, when he couldn’t fight it, he’d look over at him.  He’d study the lines of his face, how he was becoming a man, the chubbiness of boyhood almost completely gone.  How long his fingers were, how he gracelessly gripped his charcoals, scribbling shapes and twisting shadows on the paper.   He was a good artist, always had been and Stiles was impressed, but he wouldn’t tell that to Derek.

 

Then there were the times when Stiles would catch Derek staring at him.  He was unashamed, would brazenly stare at Stiles, stare into his eyes, stare at his mouth and study his movements with a furrowed brow like he was trying to fit blunt pieces into sharp edges.   But they never spoke to each other.  Whatever friendship they had was over and Stiles had long made peace with this.

 

Science club gets two new members that year.  Isaac and Vernon are transfer students, adopted brothers who just moved in from out of state.  They look like they should be playing football, not studying immaterial objects, but they’re both brilliant. 

 

Stiles gets along with them both, but he feels closer to Vernon.  Maybe it’s because Vernon, unlike his brother, doesn’t spend hours ogling Lydia, constantly telling her how beautiful she is.  Stiles isn’t jealous or anything, but it gets old real fast because Lydia is his best friend and Isaac doesn’t even know her so why should he deserve her?

 

At lunch the four of them sit together.  They’re their own little crew of outsiders; Vernon with his too small clothes, Isaac with his green Mohawk and lip ring and Lydia can fit in anywhere because she’s funny and beautiful and smart, but she’s also has character and won’t hide the fact that her friends are her friends, even if her cheerleading buddies always give her shit for hanging out with _those weird guys_.

 

***

High School is an even scarier place than middle school because it’s three times the size with four times the people.  Stiles finds it hard to breathe when he steps out of his mother’s jeep, those first day jitters making him feel like he was stuck in a hot room with the windows sealed shut.

 

“You’ll be fine honey,” she says.  And she’s right.

 

It takes a few days for Stiles to get situated, but he finds all of his classes and since most of them are advanced placement, Lydia, Vernon and Isaac are with him for almost half of the day.  He’s excited because they get almost a full hour for lunch and they can leave the campus so sometimes they bullshit in the cafeteria or they’ll walk up the road and grab something greasy and completely unhealthy at the diner.

 

Stiles finds a home with the quote, unquote weird kids.  They’re not weird, not to him. They’re just passionate about what they love be it theater, academia or music.  Stiles likes a little bit of everything so he fits in well with this faction of outcasts.

 

It’s almost a full month into freshman year before Stiles comes face to face with Derek Hale, Derek Hale who’s gotten even taller and even more good looking, if that were possible.  Stiles is running late for A.P. English and he’s practically flying down the hallway when he runs straight into Derek, crashing right into his broad chest.  If his life were a novel, it would be completely clichéd because Derek’s arms wrap around him to stop them both from falling and Stiles is in the middle of mumbling an apology when he realizes that it’s Derek holding onto him. 

 

“Hey,” He says like he’s too afraid to speak because his voice cracks.  He’s still holding on to him, still has Stiles in his arms like he’s afraid if he lets him go, something bad will happen.

 

“Yeah, um. Hey.” Stiles says and he’s about to say something else when Jackson rounds the corner.

 

“Hey Fag,” he says and Stiles guiltily looks down at his feet, gritting his teeth.

 

“Piss off bed wetter,” he replies and then he’s moving past them, Jackson cursing him to three levels of hell, but Stiles doesn’t look back.  He keeps moving.

 

***

 

Stiles loves Scott, he really does, but he’s ready to kill him.  They’re supposed to be studying for exams, but Scott has never been one able to focus for more than five minutes.  Stiles isn’t the best when it comes to concentrating on any particular subject for an extended period of time either, but he’s not the one that needs help.  Scott is failing eighth grade and the fact that he doesn’t seem to care is frustrating.  The fact that he keeps yapping on and on about Allison’s hair and her eyes is making Stiles want to gag.

 

“Dude,” he says as he throws down his pencil. “Seriously? I get it! You love Allison and her perfect bow mouth, but you really need to focus.  Do you want to fail? Don’t you want to get to high school where you can actually see Allison up close and personal and not just from her backyard?”

 

“Is she outside right now?” Scott ask jumping up from the kitchen table.  He rushes to look out the back window releasing a heavy sigh of disappointment when he realizes that she’s not out there.

 

“Okay,” he continues. “Focus. I’m focused.  So if A is traveling at a speed of 100 MPH and B is traveling at a speed of 50 MPH then which would get to Point C first? I’m going to go with….B? Yeah, definitely B.”

 

Stiles slams his pencil down. “Seriously?  Are you even trying?”

 

“What?! I am! This is hard Stiles! Not everyone can be a genius like you!” Scott bangs his head against the kitchen table.

 

Stiles snorts, “So not, dude.  You just gotta look at shit logically.  If A is able to go faster than B, then it only makes sense that A would get there first.  Do you get it?”

 

“Well yeah when you say it like that, but that’s not how you said it before.”

 

“What?” Stiles shrieks, throwing his arms up wildly gesturing them in the air. “That’s exactly how I said it!”

 

“No you didn’t!” Scott argues.

 

“I could punch you in the face.  Do you know that? I could.  I really could.”

 

Scott looks affronted, but then he smirks. “But you won’t because we’re bros.”

 

“You’re lucky I fear the wrath of your cousin,” Stiles laughs in return.

 

“Lydia is just a little bit terrifying.”

 

***

 

The most important thing Stiles has learned about Lydia is that she is a good person.  She can be a snarky bitch with sharp words and an even sharper tongue if provoked, but she’s an honest to god sweetheart. 

 

Stiles doesn’t understand why she would agree to go to Jackson’s party.  Yes, he gets it.  Lydia is not like him.  Lydia is popular and everyone knows her name and Stiles understands that sometimes she just has to show her face at certain functions, but this is Jackson Whittemore.  He’s nothing more than an insufferable douche-bag and yeah, he’s good looking, but he has the personality of a tick.

 

“Stop being a baby and just come with me.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles laughs sarcastically, throwing himself across Lydia’s bed. “Let me run home and get dressed because I’m sure Jackson would just be delighted to have me at one of his parties.”

 

Lydia rolls her eyes. “You are so dramatic sometimes, ya know that?”

 

“I’m not being dramatic.  You’re being impractical.”

 

“I promise you he won’t bother you.  You should come, it’ll be fun.”

 

“You are completely insane if you think you’re dragging me along there.”

 

***

 

The second most important thing Stiles has learned about Lydia is that she can be very persuasive.  Sometimes it’s easier to let her have her way, which is why Stiles is sitting in Jackson Whittemore’s living room, nursing a cup for fruit punch that sadly isn’t spiked with anything. 

 

At least he’s not alone.  He feels kind of bad that he’s dragged Scott along, because Scott is actually having a good time.  He’s dancing with a group of older girls near the kitchen, doing The Robot causing them to giggle, because sometimes Scott is like a puppy and if you pet him once, he will love you for life.

  
Stiles is glad that Scott is having a good time, he really is, but damn it, he invited Scott to keep _him_ company.  He knows most of the kids here, but they are definitely not people he’s comfortable enough to talk to.  It could be worse though, the whole being ignored thing.   At least Jackson hasn’t said anything to him.  He’s barely acknowledged Stiles only throwing a sneer his way before Lydia arched a brow and he backed off.

 

Stiles nurses his cup, swirling the cold blue liquid in his red Solo cup.  The couch dips and he feels his stomach tie up in knots because Derek is there, sitting beside him, smirking and looking unbelievably handsome.  He’s wearing a letterman jacket and _damn it,_ Stiles’ life is really like a clichéd work of fiction because Derek is clearly drunk and clearly out of his mind.  He’s smiling at Stiles like a loon, a big old goofy grin that Stiles hasn’t seen this up close in years and he smells fresh and clean like soap, but also just a little bit like vodka.

 

“Your hair’s all long!” He cheers and awkwardly plops his hand down on top of Stiles’ head. He runs his fingers back and forth combing through the dark strands, lips parting slightly. “It’s soft,” he exhales.

  
Derek’s eyes are bloodshot.  He doesn’t seem to understand personal space because he’s sitting too close to Stiles and Stiles feels like he’s drowning in everything that makes up Derek.  His big hands, his quirky smile with his tiny little rabbit teeth, the too-thick dark eyebrows and overly coiffed hair.

 

It’s because Derek is petting him and his touch is making Stiles’ ears burn and his head get all dizzy and he hates a little part of himself for not completely hating Derek.  He _should_ hate him. He should want nothing to do with him because Derek betrayed him.  God, Stiles really is dramatic sometimes, but there is no other way to describe it, but he misses him.  It’s been almost two years, but he misses him, he just plain misses him.

 

“You are so drunk right now,” he mutters and he moves further down the couch.  He is not about to go there with Derek, definitely not tonight.

  
Derek pouts. “No I’m not.  I’m only tipsy.”

 

“You are completely shit-tossed,” Stiles says.  Derek leans in even closer because he really is trying to drive Stiles insane.

 

“Nope, s’no.  Smell my breath,” he slurs and then he’s pushing his way into Stiles’ space. Derek’s grabbing at his face, two big calloused palms pressing into his cheeks.  His mouth is only inches from Stiles’.  If he were to lean in, just a bit, their lips would be touching.

 

“Leave him alone Derek,” Lydia barks.  She’s like a superhero with her hands on her hips and death glare coming out of the darkness, the loud beat of techno music thumping around the house like her theme song.

 

“Is not…” Derek mumbles. “Not doing nothing.”

 

“It’s not doing _anything_ you dolt. Leave him alone!”

 

Stiles stands throwing his hands up in protest. “It’s cool.  He really wasn’t doing anything.  He’s just drunk.”

 

“I am _not_ drunk!” Derek whines as he stands on his feet. He sounds like a petulant child. He sways and Stiles’ reaches out to help steady him.

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re the exact opposite of sober,” he says. Derek smirks at him, tosses an arm around Stiles’ neck just like he used to when they were kids and sharing secrets or plotting their next great adventure.

 

“I miss you P.J.”  he says and Stiles can absolutely _not_ do this, not tonight.  Not ever again.

 

He does the only thing he thinks he can do to preserve his sanity.  He leaves.

 

***

 

Laura always calls him on Sundays.  Even though Stiles isn’t friends with Derek anymore, Laura still treats him as if he’s another brother that’s a pain in her ass.  He looks forward to their talks more than he’s willing to admit.  He finds it a little disconcerting that two out of his three closest friends are girls, but he tries not to stress over this fact too much.

 

They usually talk about random things, things to bullshit about like how their weeks were or what celebrity nonsense is going on.  Stiles really doesn’t have much knowledge when it comes to pop culture, but Laura Hale is like a connoisseur.  She can tell you what celebrity has a drug problem (allegedly), what celebrity is in the closet (allegedly) and what celebrity is into violent pornography and hookers (allegedly).

 

Today though, the conversation is stilted.  Stiles can tell that Laura’s holding herself back, like she’s carrying a bag of bricks threatening to crush her under its wake.

 

“Stiles, I need to ask you something,” she says.  Stiles’ heart begins to race.  There’s just something about the tone of her voice, like she’s afraid to find out the answer to her question.

 

Stiles swallows down the lump in his throat. “What?” He asks.

 

“Um…Derek –listen, I know that you guys aren’t –don’t really hang out and I know you won’t tell me why and neither will that dipshit, but listen…is he okay?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“ I mean is he _okay_?  My parents think that something really bad is going on with him.”

 

Stiles frowns. “I don’t follow.”

 

“Do you know anything about the kids he hangs out with? He’s becoming so secretive.”

 

“Honestly Laura I don’t know much about his life anymore and the only kid I see him hang around is Jackson, but other than being a major dick, Jackson’s pretty harmless.”

 

Laura is quiet for a moment. She takes a deep breath, slowly exhales.

 

“My mother’s making him see a counselor.  He’s just been so moody lately.  My dad actually made him take a drug test because he’s changing so much.”

 

“He wouldn’t do drugs,” Stiles is quick to state.

 

“How do you know he wouldn’t?”

 

“Because he wouldn’t,” Stiles replies. “But I don’t know, maybe he would.  I don’t really know him anymore.”

 

“Can you do me a favor P.J.? Can you watch out for him? Just let me know if you see anything that should make us worry? It’s so hard being so far away from him and that little shit always rushes me off the phone the minute I try to talk to him about _feelings_.  I swear to God that kid is emotionally constipated.”

 

Despite all of his better judgment Stiles agrees to keep an eye on Derek, but he tells himself it’s just because Laura is like a sister to him too and not because he’s worried.

 

***

 

Stiles sees Derek in the hall as he’s rushing to make it to first period.  He looks at him, like really looks at him as he passes.  There are dark circles under Derek’s eyes.  His face looks sunken in, like he’s sick.  His clothes are wrinkled and his movements are slow as if he’s carrying something heavy on his shoulders, like the world and all of its problems. He looks older than his fifteen years and not in a good way.

 

He looks up and catches Stiles’ eye.  He looks like he wants to say something to him, like he wants to rush over to Stiles and do something stupid like say hello or hug him, but he doesn’t.  Derek is rooted to the spot by his locker and Stiles walks past him.

 

***

Pep Rallies are fun.  Stiles has never been big on school functions, but he can appreciate the display of school spirit.  He’s really only here to support Lydia, and Isaac and Vernon came along because there’s the promise of cheerleaders with too small skirts and the hope of strong gusts of autumn wind.

 

All of the cheerleaders stand in a line as the football player’s names are called one-by-one, marching down the field to glory with the chorus of adoration as their soundtrack.  Some of the football players have roses in their hands. Stiles watches with irritation as Jackson gives his rose to Lydia who rolls her eyes, but takes it with a smile.  Derek gives his rose to Erica, which is not surprising because they’ve been dating for almost two years now.  What is surprising, is that she doesn’t look happy. If anything she looks annoyed, but Derek jogs down the field to join his teammates, grin plastered to his face like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

 

***

The inevitable happens.  In the spring, Lydia begins to actually date Jackson.  Stiles hates her a little bit for it because Jackson is just so _Jackson_.  He’s not a nice person, but Lydia has this thing in her, this genetic defect that makes her blind to this.  Actually, she tells Stiles that she’s well aware of the fact that Jackson can be a complete tool, but he can also be a sweetheart that held her hair when she threw up from food poisoning and told her she was beautiful when she then threw up on his shoes. He even visits his grandmother at the nursing home every, single Sunday even though his parents only visit on Holidays.

 

Stiles isn’t fooled though.  He knows Jackson Whittemore is still a dick.

 

Lydia’s love sick though.  All she talks about is how awesome her boyfriend is: how his hair is nice; how handsome he is; how thoughtful and considerate and _what an amazing kisser, oh my god!_   How every morning before she gets ready for school he calls her just to make sure that his voice is the first voice she hears.  It all sounds a little unhealthy in Stiles’ opinion, too codependent and Twilight-ish, but he’s being a good friend so he lets her ramble.

 

The thing is, he wants to have those kind of feelings too: he wants to know what it’s like to only think about one person; to only love that one, single person so much that you’re willing to do gross things like hold their hair when they puke or buy them lice shampoo because they’re too embarrassed to be seen making such a purchase.  And Stiles knows that one day he’ll have that too, he’ll find a boy who makes him feel whole.  He knows he’s only fourteen, but he wants it to happen sooner rather than later. 

 

They say patience is a virtue, well fuck being virtuous because it’s very lonely.  But Stiles is too terrified at the mere thought of anyone finding out that he likes boys, so how the fuck is he supposed to find a boyfriend?

***

 

The first weekend in April Jackson invites Lydia on vacation with his parents.  Her parents are normal parents and refuse to let their teenage daughter spend the weekend with her teenage boyfriend unless Stiles goes.   Apparently, Lydia’s mother is convinced that Stiles is in love with her daughter and therefore won’t let anything, as she puts it “hormonal” happen, which is just parent-code for having sex. 

 

Jackson’s parents will be there too so Stiles is convinced that Mrs. Martin knows Stiles will refuse to go because he’s made it quite clear to her just how much he loathes Jackson.  Lydia had to have learned her manipulation skills from someone. 

 

The most third most important thing to know about Lydia Martin is that she’s absolutely heartbreaking when she fake cries and could probably con an ice cream cone from a baby.

 

At least Scott gets to come too.

 

***

 

It’s not just Lydia, Scott, Stiles and The Whittemore’s.  When Sheriff Stilinski drops them off at the cabin, Erica and her little brother Jimmy, who excitedly jogs over to Scott because apparently they’re in the same homeroom, are there too.  And then there’s Derek wearing a ratty t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts quickly darting inside of the house when he sees the patrol car driving up the driveway, no doubt trying to avoid having to exchange uncomfortable pleasantries with the sheriff.

 

Stiles’ father doesn’t take notice, but Stiles’ does. 

 

Jackson’s parents are just like Jackson: rude and dismissive.  There are five bedrooms in the cabin.  Of course Erica and Lydia have to sleep upstairs next to their master bedroom.  Jackson gets his own room because it’s his house and _he, share a room? Not going to happen_.  Derek looks annoyed by Jackson’s declaration, but just rolls his eyes.  Stiles wants to share with Scott, but Jimmy has already claimed that he would share with Scott because karma must really hate Stiles.

 

“That just leaves you two,” Lydia smirks at Stiles and Derek. “Try not to kill each other.”

 

***

 

They don’t kill each other, at least not the first day.  The first day Stiles does whatever he can to avoid Derek.  The bedroom they have to share is away from everyone else’s.  It’s really nothing more than a detached garage that’s been remodeled.  There are two full sized beds, a dresser and a flat screen television.  There’s even a small bathroom with just a shower stall and a toilet.  The whole room looks too modern and comfortable in Stiles’ opinion.  Cabins should be rustic with bare mattresses and no electricity or running water.  Perhaps his love of watching Little House On The Prairie when he was a kid gave him an idolized version of what a cabin in the woods was supposed to look like.

 

The Whittemore’s leave all of the kids to their own devices, telling them to feel free to walk around the property and explore or take a dip in the lake behind the house.  It’s April and a little chilly, but Scott is already stripping off his t-shirt and racing out of the front door, Stiles and Jimmy leaving their bags in their rooms, following right behind him.

 

“Oh my god!” Scott yells between mouthfuls of lake water. “It’s fucking cold!”

 

“Well it’s barely seventy degrees out!” Stiles deadpans, kicking his sneakers off and sitting at the foot of the dock dangling his legs down into the cold, murky water. “This shit is freezing!”

 

“It feels great though! Come on in!”

 

“Hell to the no! I want no part of the pathogens floating around in that mess.  You really should keep your mouth closed.  All sorts of nasty shit live in that water.”

 

Scott frowns. “Patho-what?”

 

“Pathogens.  They’re microorganisms –bacteria,” Stiles smirks. “And you’re swallowing loads of them right now.  Ha. I said _loads_.”

 

“What!” Scott yelled frantically trying to pull himself up on the dock.  Stiles laughs hard, holding at his side and collapsing back against the wooden flooring.  He’s laughing so hard that he doesn’t feel Scott’s hands on his shoulders before it’s too late and he’s being pushed into the lake.

 

“Bro!” He laughs, doggy paddling. “So not cool! If I get botulism I’m gonna kill you! Shit, my clothes are all wet now!”

 

“Shut up you big baby! Just change later,” Scott says right before he cannonballs into the water, Jimmy following suit right behind them.

 

The three boys splash around for what feels like hours, taking turns pushing each other down in the water and racing, seeing who can swim the furthest out and back until their bones begin to ache and, in soaking clothes, begin the trek back to The Whittemore cabin.

 

Stiles thinks it’s kind of rude that no one seems to be home when they get back.  Jackson’s parents’ car is gone.

 

“Gonna change real quick,” Scott says and he and Jimmy go off to their room. 

 

Stiles is pulling his wet, sopping mess of a t-shirt off as he walks into his room, shutting the door behind him.  He’s not paying attention to anything around him as he kicks his sneakers into a corner.  He has his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down, when he hears a frustrated exhale coming from across the room. 

  
  
There’s Derek lying across his bed with his cell phone in his hand and a scowl on his face.  He’s scowling at Stiles.

 

“Um, hey.” Stiles says, nervously pulling his shorts back up.

 

“Hey,” Derek replies and then there’s nothing.  He’s being silent and still looking at him like Stiles has just kicked his puppy.

 

“Where is everybody?”

 

“They went into town to get some food,” he says and he’s still staring at Stiles.

 

Stiles awkwardly stands by the door.  He feels like he should make a joke or talk about the weather or school or just _something_ because things feel weird between them.   Once upon a time he knew everything about Derek.  He knew what made him laugh and what made him smile.  He knew what his favorite color was and the name of his favorite band.  They were _best friends_ and even though they’re not even just plain old _friends_ anymore, it shouldn’t be this difficult to be around each other and to find some kind of common ground.

 

But it is _difficult_ and Stiles is all about self-preservation so he doesn’t try.  He walks over to his backpack and fishes out a clean pair of shorts and a new crisp, white t-shirt.  He takes them into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him, all the while with Derek’s eyes tracking his every movement.  

 

Once safely inside of the bathroom Stiles breathes a sigh of relief.  He takes longer than necessary, in part because lake water is disgusting and he wants to make sure he gets clean _everywhere_ and also in hopes that by the time he’s finished, Derek will be gone.  Only when he gets out of the bathroom, Derek isn’t gone.  Derek is sitting up in his bed swiftly typing on his cell phone, one leg hanging over the edge, his legs spread almost obscenely.  That familiar ache inside of Stiles’ chest –that ache he always gets when he looks at Derek, washes over him.  His cheeks are beginning to flush and he has to look away because he’s afraid of what stupid thing he may say or do.

 

He’s about to leave when Derek’s voice stops him.

 

“Laura wanted me to tell you hi,” he says.

 

Stiles shifts nervously from foot to foot.  His body wants him to leave this space, this too close space where he can smell Derek’s cologne, the fresh clean scent that’s entirely just _Derek_.  But his brain is telling him to stay.

 

“Yeah? Tell her I said hello,” he says and in a smaller voice continues. “I miss her.”

 

“We miss you too,” Derek says and Stiles was not expecting that.

 

His voice sounds like a strangers, too deep, too choked off. “What?”

 

Derek stands, squares his shoulders and looks at him, like _really_ looks at him.

 

“Just... I’m sorry okay?  I’m sorry about, you know. Everything.”

 

“Okay?” Stiles says slowly, dragging out the word as if it’s a chore to do so.

 

“Okay? Just _okay_?” Derek repeats and he seems annoyed as if he were expecting Stiles to say something other than that.

 

“Yeah, _okay_.  You’re saying that you’re sorry, but what exactly are you saying sorry for?  Are you sorry for forgetting about me?” Stiles asks and he can feel his body start to tingle, the itching sensation of anger brewing just below the surface. 

 

What he really wants to ask is: _Are you sorry for ditching me? Are you sorry for pretending I never mattered? Are you sorry for making me think I loved you then and probably still love you now_?  However, despite Lydia’s claims, Stiles is not Bette Davis.

 

“Look, I’m just sorry okay?  Let’s just leave it at that.” Derek says and he has the nerve to look irritated, like Stiles is the problem here.

 

“Wait a goddamn minute,” Stiles says getting between Derek and the door. “Let’s get something straight here: _I_ did nothing wrong!  You were the one that got all weird on _me_ alright there buddy! So, don’t pretend that I’m the one that fucked _you_ over,” he’s yelling now, pointing his finger in Derek’s chest. “It’s the other way around!”

 

Derek takes a step closer. He’s breathing in deeply, nostrils flaring, bright green eyes narrowed. He smacks Stiles’ hand away from his chest and crowds him against the door.

 

“How did I fuck you over?” He grunts sounding honestly confused.

 

Stiles pushes him away and maybe it’s a mistake, because even though Derek has only about three inches of height on him, there’s the solid bulk of forty pounds of muscle that could potentially break his jaw.  But Derek comes right back in his face, once again invading Stiles’ personal space.

 

“Oh come off it, you know what you did! Do you really want me to say it?” Stiles is yelling now.  He’s thankful that they’re far away from Scott and Jimmy’s room.

 

“Say it!” Derek yells back.

 

“Yeah? You really want me to?  Want me to say how you pretty much just used me to get your rocks off and then just said ‘hey to fuck with Stiles. I got to come a few times so it’s all good’.  You know what Derek, get out of my face!” Stiles pushes him away again, but Derek is back in his space, so fucking close.  He punches the wall beside Stiles’ head causing Stiles to recoil, cringe as if he’s in fear of Derek hitting him. 

 

Derek’s face softens. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as if he’s trying to calm himself.  They’re both breathing heavily, faces so close that they’re sharing the same air, inhale to exhale.

 

“It wasn’t like that,” Derek says after a moment. “Stiles, it wasn’t.”

 

“Then what was it then?” Stiles pleads.  He’s spent the last two years wondering just that: was what he and Derek did, just harmless exploration between two pre-teens?  Stiles has read up about that.  He knows its normal for two adolescents of the same sex to explore their sexuality with experimentation. But those times with Derek didn’t feel like an experiment.  They felt like something more, but fuck, Stiles is only fourteen and back then he was twelve, so maybe he’s wrong. Maybe it _was_ nothing and he’s just getting his feelings all mixed up because he loved Derek so much back then.

 

“You know what it was,” Derek says and then Stiles is closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Derek’s.  He’s afraid Derek will push him away, but he doesn’t.

 

“That’s just it. I don’t.” He says sadly.  He feels like his heart is breaking because there’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants Derek to say because he can feel it, feel this line that still connects them to each other, pulling at them both, but Derek won’t say what Stiles needs to hear.

 

“I just…” Derek tries to find the words, but then he’s kissing Stiles.  He’s kissing him and it’s soft and full of fear and more timid than the other times before, but there’s a shy curiosity to it. He pulls away. “I just…” Derek tries again, but then Stiles is pressing his mouth back to Derek’s, pulling him closer, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck because this moment is _everything_. 

 

Their tongues slide against each other and Stiles can feel his stomach bottom out.  This feeling he knows is dangerous because it makes his knees feel weak and he can feel Derek’s heart beating too fast, thumping in his chest like a wild, living thing.  He’s taking his time, kissing like it’s the most important thing in the world, like time has stopped and he’s trying to say all that he can’t say with his hands, slowly touching Stiles’ face and running down the sides of his body.

 

“Um. Yeah,” Stiles says as they break apart. He has a lazy smile on his face as he opens his eyes.

 

Derek on the other hand looks petrified.

 

“I just want…” Derek tries to say, but then he doesn’t try anymore because there’s a knock at the door and they jump apart as it slowly begins to open.

 

There’s Lydia with her vibrant smile and thick, strawberry blond hair in a messy bun, poking her head into the room.

 

“Hey guys, we’re about to grill,” she says and she gives them both an odd look, but says nothing.  the arch of her eyebrow curious when she smirks at Stiles.  She stands waiting patiently for them to follow her out the room until they do.

 

There is still so much unfinished business between him and Derek.  Stiles intends to finish it.

***

Jackson Whittemore is quite possibly the biggest asshole Stiles Stilinski has ever met.  Be that as it may, he can grill one good burger Stiles thinks as he sinks his teeth in.  He watches from across the glass patio table as Erica and Lydia whisper to each other speaking in the secret language of girls, a language Stiles knows he will never fully understand.  Erica looks like she’s on the verge of tears and Derek stands in the doorway to the house, nursing a can of orange soda staring at them, dark eyebrows furrowed.

 

There’s an unease that begins to spread throughout Stiles’ gut.  It’s the way Derek is looking at Erica, not like he’s in love with her, but like she knows something that Derek is afraid of the world finding out.  As if sensing his apprehension, Derek’s eyes fly to Stiles’.  He tilts his head motioning for Stiles to follow him inside of the house, but Stiles looks away and stays put, trying his best to look interested in only his burger while trying to eavesdrop.

 

“What are you going to do?” Lydia whispers to Erica, throwing her arm around her shoulder pulling her close for comfort.

 

Erica closes her eyes blinking back tears. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she says then barks at Stiles. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

 

“What? Me?” Stiles chokes on his burger. “Nothing. Just minding my business, eating this delicious slab of heart attack-before-fifty.” He quirks a smile, but Lydia scowls in return.

 

Erica storms off with Lydia chasing after her.  Jackson makes an aborted move to go after them, but Lydia motions for him to stay as she runs into the woods.

 

“This weekend blows,” Jackson grunts stalking back into the house, pushing past Derek.

 

In the living room Scott and Jimmy are playing video games.  Stiles’ can hear Scott yelling for Jackson to give him back the remote controller as Derek closes the backdoor.

 

“We need to talk,” he says stepping down into the backyard.

 

“That we do,” Stiles replies nonchalantly.  

 

“Not here though.”

 

“Then where?” Stiles asks, but Derek’s only response is to begin walking toward the lake.  With a grunt Stiles follows after him, walking two paces behind until they get to the dock.  The water is calm.  Against the horizon the sun is beginning to set and for someone who wanted to talk Derek is awfully quiet as he stares out into the gray, murky waters.

 

“I should probably say sorry,” he starts.

 

“We’ve covered that already,” Stiles replies quickly.

 

“Then I’m sorry, like for real sorry.” He turns to look at Stiles, taking a step closer.  He reaches out his hand, placing it on Stiles’ shoulder and he squeezes firmly, steeling his gaze. “I’m so…I’m shit for words and Stiles you have….you have always been so good with them. I mean, fuck. I can’t make this make sense.”

 

Derek closes his eyes and sighs in frustration. 

 

“Hey,” Stiles says. “Look at me.  I get it, okay? I get it. You want to be friends again.”

 

“No, that’s just it.  I don’t want to be just your _friend_.  Damn it P.J. I think…fuck, I don’t…I can’t...” Derek is squeezing his eyes shut breathing heavy from struggling to form a coherent sentence. “I like kissing you and I like touching you and I like it when you touch me and you’re all I can ever think about. Ever since we were little, I always just… I always wanted to kiss you and just…can I do that? I mean, can I do that with you again?”

 

Stiles can feel his heart beating in his chest and before he can stop himself he’s throwing himself against Derek.  He has his hand gripping against Derek’s back, his tongue exploring Derek’s mouth, this kiss more aggressive than any kiss they’ve shared before.

 

They break away panting. “Yeah. Anytime you want,” Stiles smirks.  And then he’s kissing the smile right off of Derek’s lips.

 

***

It’s close to midnight by the time the house has quieted down.  Stiles is halfway asleep when he feels Derek crawl into bed with him.  The bed feels small with two growing teenage boys taking up space, but Stiles doesn’t complain.  He makes room and smiles when he feels Derek’s arm curl across his shoulders. 

 

In the dark they kiss softly, hands gently exploring under t-shirts and inside of boxer shorts. The bedroom doesn’t have any locks and they’re almost painfully quiet and slow with their movements, afraid of making the bed creak and alerting anyone in the house of what’s going on.  Stiles closes his eyes as he feels himself give way to release in the palm of Derek’s hand.  It wasn’t so much Derek’s hands that got him off, but the way Derek’s teeth nipped at his ear and the way his mouth suckled against his neck, applying just enough pressure to probably leave a bruise.

 

Stiles works his hand in earnest.  This experience is new to him –foreign like an undiscovered land.   Derek is a solid mass in his hand, firm but pliable and Stiles moves his fingers like he knows he likes it, touching how he likes to touch, kissing and pulling at Derek’s mouth with his teeth until Derek is spilling into Stiles hands with a muffled cry.

 

Stiles crinkles his face. “Gross,” he says wiping his hand on Derek’s t-shirt.

 

“Stop that!” Derek hisses with a grin wiping his slick hand against Stiles face in retaliation.  Stiles makes a move to tackle Derek off the bed, but stops when the bed groans loudly.  Both boys freeze in place trying to listen for any footfalls.  They stay still for what feels like close to an hour, but is more like a few seconds before settling down, lying beside each other, Stiles back curled up against Derek’s front.

 

“Dude, we’re spooning,” he laughs softly, but Derek pulls him closer, snuggling his face against Stiles’ neck, kissing at the nape.

 

“You like it.”

 

“Maybe a little.”

 

“Maybe a lot.”

 

“Maybe you should shut up and let me revel in the bliss of post-coital repose,” Stiles yawns.

 

“You and your big words. I see you still like to use them.”

 

“Shut up. You love it.  I enhance your vocabulary.”

 

Derek laughs playfully nipping at Stiles’ ear.

 

“Quit it!” Stiles laughs elbowing him. After a moment of silence, Stiles takes a deep breath steeling himself. “So what is this that we’re doing?”

 

Derek stiffens. “What do you mean? I thought it was pretty clear. I mean if you don’t want to-”

 

“Oh I want to!” Stiles says turning around to face him.  They’re lying on the bed, their knees touching, sharing one pillow.  Their mouths are so close that when Stiles speaks, his lips practically touch Derek’s. “I mean, are we just gonna what? Hook up?  Are we gonna be friends?  Are we gonna be friends who just hook up?”

 

“What do you want?” Derek asks placing his hand against Stiles hips.   He presses his fingers into the warm flesh, kneading it slowly, sliding his fingers down sharp hip bones.

 

“I don’t want you to, like do this with anybody else.  And I don’t want to either. I mean, I don’t want to do this with anybody else...” Stiles trails off and continues in a softer, unsure voice. “Just with you.”

 

Derek visibly relaxes and plants a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips.

 

“Good.  Me either.”

 

“Yeah?” Stiles smiles brightly.

 

“Yeah.  Just you and me, nobody else.”

 

“Okay then. So are we like, I don’t know _boyfriends_ then?”

 

“I guess so.  I mean, yeah. Yes!” Derek grins and Stiles can feel the butterflies fluttering in his chest.

 

“You and me, huh? Boyfriends. I like that.”

 

“We just can’t tell anybody.”

 

“Duh. My dad and your dad would flip the fuck out,” Stiles says, yawning. “My mom wouldn’t care though.  She’d be cool.”

  
Stiles is startled when he feels Derek’s grip on his hip tighten.

 

“No!” He hisses, sitting up in the bed.  He flips the lamp on and Stiles can see the scowl burnt on his face. “You can’t tell anyone, not even your mother! Swear it Stiles, you have to swear you won’t ever tell anyone about us!”

 

The anger radiating off of Derek’s body is almost frightening.  The way he was able to switch so quickly from being calm one moment to almost violently angry the next sets off warning bells in Stiles head, warning bells Stiles foolishly chooses to ignore.

 

“I promise –fuck, I swear.  I won’t tell anyone now let me go, you’re hurting me, you asshole!” Stiles shoves him off, rubbing at his side where Derek’s fingers had been digging. 

 

Derek looks like he wants to apologize, moving his lips to say sorry, but instead remains silent as he switches off the lamp and lies as far away from Stiles as he can.

 

It’s Stiles who makes the first move, moving closer, laying his head on Derek’s chest, listening to the wild thunder of his heart rattling against the bones of his chest cage.  He feels safe here, _safe_. When, after a moment Derek’s fingers begin to move soothingly across Stiles’ scalp, touching him so tenderly it makes Stiles ache with worship, he’s finally able to unwind and drift off to sleep.  

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> TBC


End file.
